


With Chances of Showers

by DreamingAmethystDragons



Series: Second Chances [3]
Category: Magi: The Labyrinth of Magic
Genre: AU: Ja'far is a dryad, Cross-Posted on Tumblr, Established Relationship, Flashbacks, Grieving, M/M, Mythology - Freeform, Realizations, happier endings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-30
Updated: 2016-10-30
Packaged: 2018-08-28 01:09:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8424715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DreamingAmethystDragons/pseuds/DreamingAmethystDragons
Summary: Many partings are unhappy and unwilling, and some leave no promise of meeting again. In times like that, just keep going, just believe.





	

"Hey."

It's not the most suave of greetings, to be sure, but in his defense Sin wasn't really trying; he doesn't have the strength of will right now for anything extravagant. Somewhere under his sternum there's a cold knot, one that's been there for a while, and the sight of the spindly juniper tree standing in the pale morning light outside his patio only loosens it the slightest bit. In his hand is clutched a badly crinkled paper holding two roses, one deep red, one white with the faintest of pink edging its tips. The florist had gotten used to Sinbad being the first customer in the store.

He steps out into the dewy grass, unmindful of the chill that spreads across his bare feet. Once upon a time he would have laughed, always going into the backyard without shoes, but Ja'far... well, he'd insisted that Sin try. Something along the lines of it being grounding. Ja'far never wore shoes, anyway, so Sin had honestly only started to appease him and it had simply turned into habit. 

Sinbad exhales and reaches up into the juniper's boughs, tickling the blue-paned wind chime hanging there. He'd made it himself, with scraps of stray wire and glass and copper, and when he closes his eyes he can see Ja'far's smile like it was yesterday. These things give me headaches, he had said, But if it was made by your hands, then it will be better than a lullaby.

He crouches down with the intent only of setting the flowers down at the base of the pot, but somewhere that motion turns into him sitting down cross-legged. The grass tickles his calves and the wind makes the leaves dance above him. If he squints the tree is leaning over him, but that could just as easily be a trick of his imagination. His tree hadn't stirred for the past month and a half....

Sinbad sucks in a sharp breath. He'd promised himself he wouldn't think about it, would not dwell. That kind of pain drove men mad. But, unbidden, the memories come flooding through...

It had been the kind of March morning that promised of spring, with sunshine winning the war to struggling though puffy clouds and a breeze that didn't so much nip at one's heels as it did rub against your leg like a friendly cat. Walking with his dryad partner was always refreshing. It made Sinbad see the world through a whole new lens, like a painter had added an additional two or three colors to his palette. Ja'far was a bit naive, yes, but not childishly so; it was a honest curiosity tempered by the experience of a being rich in knowledge of greenery and living things. It made Sinbad feel humbled, that Ja'far had agreed (time and again) to choose him, explicit or not.

Sin lived right outside the main part of the city, but their morning walks tended to take them into downtown. Down the sidewalk they'd go, occasionally holding hands (usually instigated by Sin so he could watch the ivy at Ja'far's temples tint red in amused fondness) as Ja'far pointed out interesting (or curious, or downright bizarre in Ja'far's books) facets of humans and buildings and shops. Ja'far never commented on it, but Sin had always fancied that the trees bowed their heads slightly to Ja'far as he passed, that the flowers had turned their open faces to watch their passage.

The morning was nice, but the roads were still slick from last night's rain and the melting leftovers of the last snow of winter. Ja'far had just finished giving Sin the lowdown of his thoughts about the new cafe across the street and Sinbad had delightedly pet two golden retrievers that had practically sprinted down the block to meet them, despite their owner's hurried protests. They had reached the crosswalk when Ja'far had stiffened, staring down the road.

"Ja'far?" Concerned, Sin leaned around him, trying to see what had caught his attention. In the span of three heartbeats, two things caught his attention – 

\- There was a car, a sleek black sports car, screeching down the road at what was obviously above the speed limit – 

\- And somehow, a little kid - maybe no more than five or six - had run out into the street, right in the car's path.

Sin's heart thudded in his chest.

Before he could suck in a breath, move, do anything, he registered Ja'far moving, his hand slipping free of Sin's, running full tilt for the kid. Dimly he registered other voices, people yelling, and he started moving too late. He'd never reach them.

But Ja'far did.

He made it to the kid but must have known that there was no time to move so he threw himself around the boy, hugging him close –

\- The car spun –

And the following shriek of metal pierced Sinbad to the core.

He made it to the car, now spun slightly askew, heart in his throat, expecting... he wasn't sure. But what he saw was only the little kid, looking up at him with eyes that were starting to tear up, his face scrunching. He held his little hands out to Sin and Sinbad scooped him up without hesitation, hearing hiccupped sobs by his ear. At his back he heard other voices, someone yelling something about the police, murmurs. The driver was getting out of his car and someone - must have been the boy's mother - reaching for her son, tears streaking mascara down her cheeks.

But the kid was the only one there. Ja'far was nowhere to be seen.

Sinbad came back from his memories, knees curled up to his chest, eyes squeezed shut. The next week, he'd been frantic, practically disregarding and dodging all the questions directed his way. What happened if a dryad took too much damage? Did they disappear? Did they go back into their tree? He didn't know, and Ja'far had hardly ever approached the subject. 

The potted juniper tree, Ja'far's host, was the only clue he'd had, and he'd barely took an eye off it. He'd been terrified that he'd see signs of the tree dying, but - nothing. No wilting leaves, no corrosion, nothing - but no signs of animation, either.

He brushed his hair out of his eyes, tipping his gaze past the branches and into the clear May sky. "I miss you, you know." This isn't the only time he's talked to the tree, but for the first time, he doesn't ask for a reply.

Instead, he continues. "You... That was a lucky day I found you, wasn't it? I hope you think so. For me," he exhaled, "It definitely, definitely was.

"You... oh, Ja'far. You made me see the world in new ways. Made me see all the things I had, all the things I never thought about." His eyes land on the wine chime, and he smiles. "I even loved all those silly little questions. "

He thinks about the good things - Ja'far's slim fingers nudging his, the delight he took in taking their neighbors the bounty from their ever-overflowing garden, the subtle tints of emotion in the color and shape of the leaves framing his face, of his eyes, of his lips. "I was a lucky man." His voice is slightly hoarse in the raw emotion of that admittance, and he swallows heavily. "Still am."

The sky is a clear, crystal blue, without clouds. "I'm proud of you, you know, for saving that kid. I met him twice afterwards, I think you'd really like him." Unbidden, the thought of a little dryad child with grey eyes flashes through his mind. "I just... I'm not angry. Well, I guess I was, but not at you. You did what was right. I would have done the same, just - you were just quicker."

The sun is reaching his shoulders and he knows it's time to turn back into the house, to get ready with the chores of the day. He'd glad, more than ever, for his evening job, that let him spend many a good morning with his partner. There's one last thing to say before he get up, and he says it in tempo to the drum of his heartbeat. "Come home soon, Ja'far."

He reaches out, intending on touching the bark of the tree.

Instead, a hand grasps his.

When his eyes shoot up and his heart nestles in his throat, familiar, sleepy grey eyes are looking back at him, and then his arms are around his partner...

And all around them come the flapping of wings as songbirds soar out of their garden and into the endless sky.

**Author's Note:**

> Cross-Posted on my Tumblr account.  
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
